Ugly Duckling
by Crutcherella Wormwood
Summary: Angsty/Fluffy/idk one-shot based on a crossover headcannon my Fansie/Oncer friend texted me once, fitting to both her love of Henry and my love of Crutchie. I just about cried. So I wrote a crappy fic about it. Set a couple years before the show in a Storybrooke where Crutchie is bullied day to day, his Enchanted Forest/metaphorical identity being the Ugly Duckling.


Growing up in Storybrooke was rough. Seriously. Especially when you knew for a fact you were the only one aging in the whole town, and you knew everyone else was from a different universe - one that was considered a just a series of fairy tales here. You'd get bullied a lot for always having your nose stuck in a book of "myth." But you wouldn't feel pained by the words. You would just feel lonely, even under the comforting words of Ms. Blanchard.

"Try to make some friends of your own," the teacher told Henry one day when he was sitting outside for lunch alone. "There's always someone out there going through the same feeling as you."

But Henry was additionally poked at for fun ever since word got out he was given up by his birth mother to live in the local orphanage, making a living selling newspapers every day. He wanted so badly to defend his mom, the savior, but the kids at school just wouldn't understand.

...

"'Ey, Oscar... Heh... How's your day been?"

Crutchie shifted his weight foot-to-crutch anxiously and scratched his head through his backwards cap. It was eight in the morning the next day. Usually that early, the newsies of Storybrooke had free reign over their turf and could sell in peace. Not two seconds ago he was out hawking like normal, trying to charm buyers on the street. Now, he was against the wall of Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop, in the shadow of a familiar lanky thug. Oscar snarled into a smile. He was already in a bad mood, and apparently the prescription for a bad day in the Delancey household was a good laugh over a sickly newsboy. Crutchie had a couple of kids from downtown take shots at him just yesterday, and Morris the day before. He really didn't want to be picked on again today.

"Don't play that game wid' me, ya lousy crip. Your big, strong pal Jacky ain't here to save the day, is he?"

Well, frankly, Crutchie's pride was dented, though at the Lodging House they all told him not to give in to the city snakes.

"I-I don't need him to do no day-savin'," Crutchie replied.

"Sure, sure. Ya wanna stand for yourself? Let's see ya walk, crip." Oscar was fast to kick the boy's crutch out from under him, but the cripple was fast enough to see it coming. He stood on his one good leg, a hand on the wall, though it was clear his balance wasn't steady.

"Dance for me, Crip, huh?" Oscar prodded the boy's leg with the crutch, forcing him to sort of hop out of the way of it to stay balanced.

"Real mature, ya coward..." Finally, he lost his grip on the wall and, with barely a gasp, collapsed hard onto the ground. His side ached. He peeled his chest back up off the pavement with a wordless glare at Oscar.

"See? Some mouth ya got there when you're the only one in this town that can't stand on 'is own two feet." Oscar tossed the crutch aside and walked away in his crooked stance of superiority. Crutchie sighed out a minor cuss and pounded a single hand to the ground, even though it really wasn't anger brewing. He made fun of his own limp from time to time, sure, but reminders that he was alone still stung. Usually his will was almost unbreakable, but he was only human, and sometimes the cuts that some teasers made were deeper than others.

"'Ey, Crutch!" Jack sprinted into view as fast as he could and grabbed Crutchie's arm. "Oh God, not again. Delanceys gettin' ya down? Those sick bastards are..."

"Jus' leave me alone," Crutchie grumbled.

"C'mon, ya need help?"

"I can get up on my own," Crutchie assured him, ripping his arm from Jack's grasp.

"Crutchie..."

"Jus' go away!" The boy shouted. Jack flinched back. He actually looked frightened. "Just shut up for once! There's nothin' wrong wid' me! I'm sick an' tired of you treatin' me like some diseased dog or somethin'! Go!" Crutchie insisted, and Jack backed away without pushing anymore. Then he turned and flew out onto the streets.

Crutchie sighed again and picked up his crutch with one hand. It was worn down on all sides from enduring the weather of Storybrooke year after year. It stood for his handicap. And he hated it for it. He cast it sideways with a long throw and a tiny grunt. It skidded onto the pavement just a few yards away.

Suddenly, he saw Oscar ram right into a kid on the street in that same direction.

"What are ya lookin' at? Beat it," Oscar barked as he faded into the busy sidewalks. When the crowd cleared a bit, Crutchie made direct eye contact with the boy not seven feet away from him, not over the age of eight, firmly standing diagonal to him and somewhat concerned as if he had witnessed the whole scene. Before Crutchie could say anything, the boy swiftly turned and walked away towards the paper distribution center, his striped scarf whipping behind him in the wind.

...

Crutchie trudged through the rest of the day as best he could, but he just found himself in the mood of gloom and doom all morning. When a wave of children his age came down the sidewalks from the school, he came to expect a little bit of trouble. He did get a trip or two with a couple of giggles. He didn't like being mad at the world, but he was. He felt guilty about exploding on Jack. He never did that before. But he just wanted someone to see things from his point of view.

Then, after the initial wave of schoolchildren subsided, a few stragglers came through, whispering and pointing. Were they always like this, or was he usually just so blind with optimism that he didn't notice it before?

He heard a creak and a footstep right behind him. Creak. Footstep. Creak. Footstep. That... That couldn't be right. No one else in Storybrooke had that kind of a walk.

He turned and saw a pale little boy looking up at him, a golden brown wooden crutch beneath his right arm, his foot turned inward in an artificial limp. He also had a newspaper bag on his shoulder and a striped scarf bound tightly around his neck.

"Hi," the boy greeted with a shy grin. "My name is Henry. Want to be friends?"

After a second or two of confusion, general hesitation, and a million other variables, Crutchie started to smile. He realized all at once how much he missed his own smile.

"Of course, kid."

He could use a friend like Henry.

**...**

**_Credit to my friend Julianna (tumblr user hai-its-julianna even though she doesn't really use it anymore) for giving me the beautiful plot bunny for this:_**

**_"HENRY IS A NEWSIE IN ANOTHER NEIGHBORHOOD AND HE SEES CRUTCHIE GET MADE FUN OF FOR HIS CRUTCH SO HENRY STARTS WALKING WITH ONE TOO SO CRUTCHIE ISNT ALONE AND THEY HANG OUT IN THE STREETS EVERY DAY" _**

**_ Changed up the setting a little bit, but it got me inspired more or less._**

**_**So if you found this, Julianna, you see that not all of my fics suck that bad :D**_**

**_ I might continue this, but I don't know. I started a lot of things saying I would continue them and I haven't touched them with a 90-foot pole. I just haven't written much of anything in a while, but I like being in the writing groove. Leave a review if you feel like it? This was just a silly lil crossover thing, but constructive crit is always appreciated!_**


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